


The Catalyst

by JaneDoh7



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDoh7/pseuds/JaneDoh7
Summary: When Fitz finds himself transported through a monolith back to the Academy, he knows to avoid seeing his younger self at all costs.He just didn’t account for running into Jemma.But, surely, it won’t change things too much.Surely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on this universe:  
> The start of this story is set around s5x08. Voss does not give the team the fractured piece of monolith in the universe, so when they find another monolith, they are forced to take a chance on using it to get home. Also, THIS monolith seems to open and close regularly, so it is assumed whoever goes through will NOT be stuck on the other side for a ridiculously long time (I can’t do that to them again!)  
> In case it isn’t obvious, the first chapter runs from MarauderFitz’s POV. The scene in italics is a flashback to AcademyFitz’s POV.
> 
> Huge thanks to Stormkpr for her beta skills.

When the group had discovered the new monolith, they were cautiously hopeful that it could assist their journey back to their own time. Fitz had insisted he be the one to do the recon mission. He still felt he needed to redeem himself for the pain he had caused his team in the Framework, despite the others insisting he was not at fault.

There had been arguments from all corners, mostly about Fitz _not_ being the ideal candidate. Each of them had volunteered themselves. Everyone had talked over each other.

Except Jemma. She had just stood there and looked at him pleadingly as the cacophony rose around her.

He couldn’t hold her gaze.

After a few moments he shouted at them to stop. He had reasoned that scientific knowledge would be beneficial for deciphering whatever may lay on the other side. And, although he didn’t verbalise his ulterior reasoning, there was no way he was letting Jemma put herself in a position that may trigger flashbacks to her journey to Maveth.

He was going, and he wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.

He had rambled. But it had seemed to do the trick, because Coulson eventually acquiesced. But only after he had promised not to put himself in any unnecessary danger.

There hadn’t been much time to plan, an ever-present threat that the Kree may become aware of their discovery. So he had given a nod to his friends, kissed Jemma - maybe a little longer than felt comfortable in front of the rest of the team - and stood before the rock, eyes squeezed shut. This one seemed to liquefy quite regularly.

And so here he was, feeling the rush of air from his lungs as he hit the ground after being flung from the portal, rolling several times before coming to a halt. He groaned, then pressed his ribs gingerly.

It was dark, but the air was breathable, and the temperature… pleasant, and he was lying on – he rubbed his hands experimentally over the surface – grass? He sat up and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness: he was surrounded by trees.

He stood up and dusted himself off, because that’s what people seemed to do in these situations, then looked over his shoulder. The portal was still visible, shimmering slightly in the moonlight.

He could just make out a building through a gap in the trees to his left. He felt a small amount of tension subside: at least he seemed to have exited near some form of civilisation. He perched down and ran his hand along the ground until his fingers landed on a rock. He picked it up and started walking towards the building, scratching a cross into the bark of a tree every few metres.

He dropped the rock once he emerged from the thicket and started walking. As he got closer, the details of the building became clearer, and he realised he didn’t need to read the sign to know where he was.

Was this some cosmic joke?

He was standing beside the chemistry lab at Sci-Tech Academy. It looked just as he remembered it. But, honestly, how much did university buildings really change over the years?

So, now he knew where he was… he just didn’t know _when_.

At least it was night, so he had less chance of being discovered. He ran closer and tried looking for a noticeboard, or anything that might have a date or a clue as to what day it was. When his search proved fruitless, he started jogging towards the quadrangle, because he knew it was the most likely spot to have posters and flyers situated around it.

But as he got closer, he heard it: the opening riff of _Sweet Home Alabama._ So it was at least post… 1970’s? Music wasn’t Fitz’s forte, but he liked to think he could ascertain the general _era_ a song came from. And then he could hear voices joining in as the song hit its first chorus. Lots of voices. And shouting. And was that a firecracker that just went off?

It was a party. A big one.

 _Oh, that’s just fantastic_. He could even hear the sarcasm in his own head. _Of all the nights to be carrying out a covert mission._

He crept closer to the area from which the sound appeared to be emanating. He used the shadow of the building as cover and when he reached the end, he peered around the corner.

He scanned the scene before him. After a few moments, certain people, and what they were wearing started to look familiar. He looked up at the welcome sign that hung between two lamp posts. He remembered this party: the start of semester party in his third year. The theme had been time-travel.

The universe was obviously having a laugh at his expense.

It felt bizarre, standing there as a detached observer, but being back in the situation caused the memories to come flooding back.

~~~~~~~~~

_Fitz couldn’t believe his trip had been delayed by eight hours. As soon as he dumped his luggage in his room, he hurriedly had a shower and shave and threw on his costume. When his battery had enough charge, he texted Simmons to say he had finally arrived. And then he headed to the party: two hours late._

_He had rung Simmons the day before from Glasgow airport, telling her that his flight was going to be late. He could hear her disappointment through the phone, but he was still glad to hear her voice. He had been thinking about her a lot during the holiday break, starting to realise just how much he missed her. The conversation had flowed easily and she kept him company - albeit long-distance - for forty minutes._

_Even though he was a poor student, he hadn’t cared about the cost. If he was going to be stuck in the airport for several hours, he couldn’t think of a better way to pass the time than listening to her chat away excitedly. He had just hoped she wasn’t doing it out of pity. But then he had realised the battery was about to go flat. They had hastily tried to make plans for the next night, but the conversation didn’t make it any further than meeting at the party before his screen went black._

_At that exact moment, he had made a point to design a phone battery in the future that required less time attached to a charger._

_And just when he had thought he might actually get back to the Academy at a reasonable hour, he was stuck waiting for a six car pile-up to be cleared from the airport exit._

_So here he was, hands shoved deep in his pockets, as the other students laughed and danced and drank large volumes of undetermined liquids. He considered saying hello to some of them. But he really just wanted to find Simmons. He had had a lot of time to think on the plane and at the terminal. He tried denying it, but the longer he had been away from her, the more fondly he felt towards her._

_He spent a good twenty minutes looking for her, downing two pints in an effort to fit in. He tried to act interested when he got the odd wave from one of his classmates. He was surrounded by some of the brightest minds in the world; not that you would know it, from the way most of them were teetering slightly and slurring when they spoke. But he could just never seem to click with any of them. They all paled in comparison to Simmons._

_He looked at his phone hopefully, but there was no message alert. He even clicked on her name in case he had somehow missed her message, but she hadn’t replied._

_Was she mad at him for not contacting her earlier? He had texted her as soon as possible after his horrendous day, but she couldn’t have known that. Did she think he had gotten overwhelmed with the idea of having to interact with all their classmates in a social capacity? Even though she would have been right, he was willing to brave it because she would be there by his side. His shoulders sagged._

_He did smile though, at the picture of her that popped up at the top of the screen. She was pointing at a butterfly that was sitting on her shoulder, a cheesy grin plastered over her face. It was from last year, when they had made a trip to the botanical gardens. She had excitedly told him it was an El Segundo blue butterfly, and that it was endangered. He was pleased he still remembered the name._

_He remembered a lot of the stuff she told him._

_He did one more circuit of the gathering, even asking a few people if they knew where she was. Some said they had seen her at the party earlier. Sebastian, who was dressed as Marty McFly - despite having a physique that was much more suited to Biff - had mentioned how great her outfit was, before being elbowed by one of the O’Shea twins._

_Fitz checked his phone one more time._

_Nothing._

_He started to worry that maybe she had hooked up with someone and was therefore too occupied to check her messages. A tinge of jealously ran through him._

_And then anger. At himself. It was his fault._

_Why hadn’t he said something to her earlier? That maybe he had been thinking they could go out to dinner somewhere. Just the two of them. Somewhere nice. He now started to think about those precious forty minutes on the phone, and all the opportunities he had missed to say something then._

_He walked over to the table and grabbed another drink. He wasn’t worried about fitting in anymore, this drink was purely to dampen his remorse._

_This was the worst party he had ever been to. And Fitz abhorred parties in general, so that was saying something._

_He was going to head back to his room, but a little voice in his head nagged him to go and check up on her. Not to ‘check up on her’, in the sense that she might be ‘taking the party elsewhere’, so to speak. Just to make sure that she was okay; purely to check she was not in some dire emergency and unable to answer her phone, he assured himself._

_He gave himself a pep talk during the walk to her room. If she was by herself, he was going to drop some hints, and see how she reacted. His brain was currently functioning at less than optimal capacity, so he hadn’t planned out exactly_ what _those hints would be. He tried to convince himself it would come out organically._

_He finally reached her door. He stood there for a few moments, glad that there were no overt noises emanating from inside. He cupped his hand over his ear and leaned against the wood, still unable to decipher any sounds, then straightened back up and knocked gently._

_Nothing._

_“Simmons.” His voice was just above a whisper._

_A few seconds passed._

_He tapped again, louder. “Simmons.” This time, it was at normal volume, but it sounded loud in the quiet hallway, everyone else still at the party._

_Still nothing._

_A disheartening thought flitted through his head: maybe she was actually in someone else’s room. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach._

_He shuffled nervously from foot to foot, debating his options. He had her spare key in his wallet (and she had his) and it wasn’t unusual for either of them to use it when needed. He made up his mind: if she was inside, even if she was ignoring him, at least he knew she was safe. If she wasn’t in her room, he assumed she had found someone else at the party to entertain her._

_He put the key in the lock and twisted it slowly. He gently pushed the door open, grateful it didn’t creak, and peeked inside. The light from the crescent moon that filtered through the window was just enough to see the outline of her under the blanket._

_She was alone. He let out a breath. It was enough, for now; to know she was safe, and hadn’t left the party with someone else. He felt the tension in his shoulders disappear._

_He was about to close the door, when she shifted. She rolled onto her back, and the loose curls fell from her face onto the pillow._

_He couldn’t see details in the low light, but she somehow looked different. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t seen her in over two months. Maybe it was the way the moonlight reflected off her pale skin, giving her an ethereal glow._

_She looked… beautiful._

_He wanted to run over and wake her up and hug her and tell her how much he missed her. But that seemed to be crossing a line that she hadn’t yet agreed to._

_He resolved to talk to her tomorrow. He pulled the door closed and locked it. He just hoped his bravado didn’t wear off when the alcohol did._

~~~~~~~~~

Fitz was abruptly slapped back to reality. Literally. Sebastian’s large hand clapped him on the bicep, accompanied by an inebriated grin.

“Hey, Fitz! Standing over here with all your friends?” Fitz now realised he had just been leaning awkwardly against a wall for several minutes. It was not the most inconspicuous intel gathering technique. An image of his examiner taking great delight in putting a red X next to his name for the field assessment test flashed through his mind.

“Leave him alone, Bass,” one of the O’Shea twins said, “he’s just shy.” Her arm was looped around Sebastian’s elbow.

The other twin placed one hand on Fitz’s forearm, while twisting a curl of red hair through her fingers. He had heard Maeve got quite handsy when she partook in a few beverages. Or maybe that was Melody. To be honest, he struggled to tell them apart anyway so it was irrelevant.

He had seen them interact like that with plenty of the guys in his younger days, but they had never seemed to take an interest in him.

“Loving the new look,” she said, shifting her hand up to brush against the fine hairs of his beard.

Fitz stared down at his leather jacket and rather snug trousers. “Just for the party,” he assured her, wriggling the red bandana that was around his neck to dissipate some of the heat that was gathering beneath it. He gave her what he hoped was a sincere looking smile, even as he pulled her hand away from his jaw and guided it back to her side.

“So, have you seen Jemma?” Sebastian asked before taking a swig of the beer he was holding. The twin attached to his arm did not seem amused by his inquiry. She appeared to down half her cup in one motion.

“Uh, nope… no.” Fitz’s eyes darted around for an escape route. “No idea where Jem… Simmons is,” he corrected.

_Third year, Fitz. Remember, you are in third year._

“That’d be a first,” he heard one of them mutter.

Fitz grabbed his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. He was pleased to note that the kinetic charger he had integrated in it was working, before he realised his phone’s clock was probably incorrect. He hadn’t exactly accounted for time travel the last time he modified it. But he did smile at the selfie of him and Jemma on his home screen.

The besotted twin was trying to get a look at what had captured his attention. He hastily turned it off.

“Do you have the time?” he asked her.

“When you’re looking like that, I’ll make the time.” She raised one flirtatious eyebrow. Fitz stood there dumbfounded. He never remembered garnering _quite_ this much attention during his Academy days and, even now, he didn’t have much experience in these situations. When he failed to respond to her comment, she seemed to take pity on him, glancing at her wrist. “Quarter to nine.”

He took a deep breath. No need to panic. He remembered his younger self hadn’t even made it to the party until half nine. And even though the concept had been popularised by film, the reasoning was sound: do not, under any circumstances, make contact with your younger version.

He relaxed a little, knowing he had fulfilled his duty with enough time to exit before disrupting the past too much. But then he looked back at Maeve/Melody who seemed to be gazing up at him expectantly. He didn’t know how to react. Apparently his ability to deal with women other than Jemma had not improved over the years.

“Oh, really?” he said. “I didn’t realise it was that late.” He took a couple of steps backwards from the group. “I actually need to get going.” The concept of leaving a party before nine was completely foreign to them. All three stared at him like he was crazy. Some things never changed.

“Fitz!” The crisp English accent that emanated from behind him was unmistakable.

_Fuck._

He had barely finished turning around before he was accosted by an enthusiastic hug. “I’d know that accent anywhere,” Jemma said. She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly and crushing herself against him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her shoulders, a few strands of her long hair getting tangled in his fingers.

Her long, _red_ hair. Concern started brewing within him as his mind ran wild with theories of possible parallel universes. And then he rubbed the coarse fibres through his fingers.

It was a wig.

He now realised that he had never gotten a good look at her that night.

“Anyone would think they had been separated for _years_ ,” he heard one of the twins say from over his shoulder. And then he heard the trio start making their way over to where the band was playing. It was in his peripheral vision, but he was sure he saw them collectively roll their eyes.

“You finally made it,” Jemma said, yet to relinquish her hold on him. He felt her cheek brush against the short hairs of his beard. And then he felt the slightest shift in her posture as she registered the new sensation.

He tried to think back: it had been more than two months from finals to the start of the new semester. He knew he had been unable to get past a mere scruff when he was that age, he just hoped she didn’t realise that fact.

Her arms were still laced around his neck, but she tilted her head back, sizing him up. There was a moment where he could almost see her brain trying to process the change, but then she seemed to dismiss it, and nodded in approval. “I like it,” she said, all matter-of-fact. “It makes you look older.”

Fitz gulped. She was smart. Super smart. For sure, she would realise something was up.

But then he looked at her more closely. Her cheeks were flushed, more than was warranted by the balmy summer night, and she was blinking more slowly than usual.

She was tipsy. Hopefully that hampered her neurons.

She took a step back from him and he finally saw the entirety of her costume. His eyes journeyed down the long red wig cascading over her shoulders, past the blue and white checked tie and police vest and finally halted on the close-to-scandalously-short black skirt.

She was Amy Pond.

He couldn’t believe it. He had gone as the Eleventh Doctor, all those years ago. It seemed inconceivable that neither of them had somehow found out what the other had worn. Or seen a photo. He would _definitely_ have remembered if he had ever seen her in that costume.

He zoned out for a moment, but he was pretty sure that his mouth hung open for an indeterminate amount of time. He felt it best not to make any comment. He wasn’t quite sure he was able to speak anyway.

Luckily, she had been too preoccupied to notice his stare. “What are you supposed to be?” she asked, taking a less than discreet look at his entire body. “A space cowboy or something?” She grabbed at the red bandana that was around his neck, tugging it slightly, and he stumbled forward before he unhooked her finger from the material.

“What? No,” he said, indignantly. “I’m a… bounty hunter.” She narrowed her eyes at him in confusion. “Uh, from the future.”

He cringed as soon as the words had left his mouth. _Nice work, super spy._ Luckily, she didn’t try to decipher his explanation.

“And that?” she asked, peering at the phone.

He scrunched his nose. “Just… future tech,” he said dismissively. He shoved it back in his pocket.

“Sure, whatever,” she said, “I’m just glad you’re here.” She stood on her tiptoes and leaned closer to him as she cupped her hand over her mouth, as though letting him in on a secret. “I was getting really bored.”

She was soon distracted though, grabbing two jelly shots from a passing tray, gulping one down and offering him the other. He shook his head emphatically. She shrugged, and slurped the other one down too, then plonked the empty cups onto another passing tray.

“This semester is going to be amazing,” she foreshadowed. “The subjects this year are brilliant. We are going to have _so_ much fun.” She squeezed his forearm as a wide grin illuminated her features.

If only he had arrived at the party a little earlier when everything had originally played out, before Jemma - _Simmons,_ he corrected himself - had left; things could have turned out differently. He might have actually _enjoyed_ the party.

He couldn’t help but smile at her youthful enthusiasm. But then he remembered _this_ Jemma was nineteen, and that was her normal state of being during their Academy days. And he had to remind himself he was late twenties, even if she had so far conveniently failed to realise that fact.

Her fingers were still grasped firmly around his arm. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. But he could see her swaying slightly.

He had had to help her home a few times in their Academy days - and vice-versa - but this was _not_ the ideal time. And, if memory served him correctly (which it did), she had made it back to her room safely that night.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired,” he said, starting to back away slowly, “you know… jet lag and all.”

“But,” she started, her brow wrinkling in consternation, “you just got here.”

 _Do not interfere, do not interfere, do not interfere._ The litany kept circling his thoughts _._

“Maybe you should call it a night too?”

She pouted at his suggestion. “Fitz, it’s our first night back. You know I am too focused on studying once the semester is in full swing.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “but there will be a few more functions before we get into the thick of it.” He extricated her fingers from his arm.

She crossed her arms over her chest. He couldn’t tell if it was out of defensiveness or defiance. They stood staring at each other for a few moments. And then Milton’s voice cut through the silence.

“Hey, Jemma. Good to see you again.” He ignored Fitz completely. “Can I get you a drink?”

She turned towards him and smiled sweetly. “Oh, hi, Milton.” He was looking at her all doe eyed. Fitz scoffed, not even trying to hide his displeasure. Milton had some half-finished drink in his hand, which she plucked from his grasp.

“Thanks.” She held the ridiculously large plastic cup and turned back to Fitz.

Milton raised a finger, as though going to point out that his own drink wasn’t exactly what was on offer, but when he saw the intense stare between the two scientists, he promptly shut his mouth and slinked off.

“Jem… Simmons,” Fitz looked at her imploringly. “Don’t you think you have had enough?”

“Yeah, enough of you.” He could see the early sheen of tears developing as she blinked rapidly. “I had been excited to see you _all night_. And then, as soon as you see me, you are making excuses to leave.” She sighed. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Fitz.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m just looking out for you.” He was worried that the more he said, the more he was altering the outcome of the night.  But he needed her to go back to her room, just like she had all those years ago. “I’ve seen the consequences when you… have a few too many drinks.”

He was merely concerned for her welfare. But instead, his words just seemed to ignite a stubbornness in her. He saw her eyes widen in rebellion. “Maybe you should just go, so the rest of us can enjoy the party.” And then she downed the remaining liquid in the cup, even as she grimaced through the process.

He was going to remind her that she had just told him she was bored without him there, but he knew that would only intensify the situation. Simmons would _not_ appreciate him pointing out she had just contradicted herself.

She turned her back on him and stumbled over to the bin, throwing the cup into its depths. He was thankful she was wearing boots instead of heels, otherwise she may have ended up on the ground.

Why hadn’t he thought of something earlier? Spilled something on himself and made his exit as soon as he had seen her? Events were spiralling. And now he didn’t know which course would have the least effect.

He dipped his head and dug his short nails into the palm of his hand, debating his options. He finally decided to leave, but when he looked up to say goodbye, he saw her leaning against the bin with one arm perched on top of it to steady herself.

He sighed.

She lifted her chin in defiance and tried to take a step away from him but faltered.

“Come on.” She turned when she heard his voice and he held his palm out. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

Her brow was furrowed with indecision as she looked at his offered hand. And then her gaze drifted up to his eyes. She took a deep breath, then gave him a self-deprecating smile and reached her fingers out to grasp his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The seasons of Doctor Who featuring the Eleventh Doctor and Amy Pond would not yet have aired when FitzSimmons had been in their third year at the Academy. Just pretend it had in the MCU ;)
> 
> I do not condone underage drinking, and I think both Fitz and Simmons would be a little more cautious about it too, especially Simmons, who hates to break the rules. But the legal unaccompanied drinking age in Scotland and England is 18, so I feel it is a grey area for them drinking in the US, when they are able to drink in their home countries.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m sorry, Fitz.” They had walked for a few minutes, before her apology had broken the silence. “It just feels like _ages_ since I have seen you, and I was so excited. I mean, it _could_ be our last year here, and there is so much more we are yet to achieve.”

“I know,” he said honestly. It was true.

“But you just don’t seem to be as invested in the idea as I do.” He felt her hand flinch within his, but she didn’t let go.

He felt a pang of guilt stab his chest.

“I’m just tired,” he assured her. “I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.” Surely he hadn’t changed things _too_ much. And if his calculations were correct, his younger self had just gotten out of the traffic jam, and everything could hopefully play out as it should.

He just had to get her back to bed so she could sleep it off.

She looked up at him with a smile of gratitude, then rested her head on his shoulder.

After a couple more minutes of walking in amicable silence, he could feel her getting more sluggish. Those last couple of drinks must have been starting to affect her. This did not bode well.

She spotted a retaining wall and dropped his hand as she stumbled towards it. She plonked down on the concrete, then pulled the wig off and dropped it in her lap.

“I can’t walk any further,” she mumbled. She pulled at the band that had held her hair in a bun, wincing slightly as she tugged at the elastic.

“You’re almost home,” Fitz said encouragingly. She finally removed the elastic, her dark hair tumbling down in loose waves.

“I’d get you to piggy-back me if I wasn’t wearing this ridiculously tight skirt.”

Fitz actively avoided peeking at said skirt. Although he had explored every curve since Jemma and he had finally crossed the event horizon, it somehow felt inappropriate to be thinking about that now. He looked to his left instead. “I can _literally_ see the stairs to your block.”

She shook her head despondently. “I’ll just sleep here.” She actually started to shift herself to lie down.

Fitz grabbed her hand to haul her up, and she fell against his chest, holding on to his leather jacket. He let her get her bearings for a few seconds before nudging her. She just kept her head firmly against his chest and made no effort to move.

“Fine,” he concluded, when she refused to even _try_ to walk. He scooped her up under her knees and her back.

She squeaked slightly at the sensation of leaving the ground, and grasped one arm around his neck, as though worried he may drop her. He took a few experimental steps, and was pleased to find he actually moved quite easily with her in his arms.

Those double digit push ups were certainly paying off.

After a few moments, she seemed to relax, softening in his arms. He kept walking purposefully, focusing on getting her to her room before his strength inevitably gave out.

As he neared the steps, he remembered how he had trundled down them after he had left her room the first time he had lived through that night. He had been excited and confused and nervous all at once over the feelings that were bouncing around inside him. And he had wanted to ask if she felt even a portion of what he did. But when he finally saw her the next day, his self-consciousness had gotten the better of him, and he had remained silent, content to maintain their friendship until she gave him an indication otherwise.

He felt her hand squeeze slightly where it was clasped behind his neck. He made the mistake of glancing down at her; she was looking up at him adoringly. Her hair was longer, and her eyebrows slightly thicker, but it was that same expression he had seen many times recently, even if it was technically years from now. _Oh no._

“Fitz,” she said, half giggle and half sigh as she poked his bicep, “have you been [caber tossing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujpfCRpqkFs) during the break?”

He almost stumbled at the absurdity of it. “No,” he said with a laugh. He had reached the stairs and started ascending them carefully.

“Aww, but you’d look adorable in a kilt.” She looked up at him dopily, and her eyes lost focus at times. He hoped she was just teasing him. This was dangerous ground. _Abort mission._

He almost tripped on the last step. The jolt seemed to startle her.

“Okay, enough.” She wriggled until he let her feet touch the ground. She seemed to have gotten a second wind. “You have proven yourself worthy, oh noble gentleman.” She bent her knees awkwardly. Fitz guessed it was an attempt at a curtsy. The tight skirt wasn’t really amenable to the action, even without the impeding effects of the alcohol.

Fitz hovered his hand over her back in case he had to pick her up again. She placed a hand out in front of her for a moment to help her balance. “Maybe just hold my hand.”

He obliged, gripping her hand firmly until they had made it all the way to her room.

“Thanks for walking me back.”

“Of course,” he said sincerely. He considered leaving, right then, but decided to make absolutely sure she made it inside first.

She dropped his hand and pushed the key towards the lock. It slotted in place on the second attempt. She pushed the door open and dropped the wig on the floor, foregoing turning on the light in favour of removing her boots. Well, attempting to remove her boots; the skirt was making it hard for her to lift her feet, and crouching down was not an option.

“I really shouldn’t have worn this skirt,” she muttered. “It’s so bloody impractical.”

He watched her struggle for a few moments, his middle finger tapping against his thumb impatiently. Against his better judgement, he edged into the room with her and closed the door behind him. He switched the light on.

She squinted and groaned, then switched it back off. “It’s too bright,” she protested. The pale moonlight was now the only thing illuminating the room. She went to make a grab for one of her boots again.

“Here, let me.” He bent down, tugging at the zip on the side of each boot. He felt her hand come to rest against his shoulder.

He could hear her breaths. They sounded loud in her small room. But maybe it was just because the dimness had made his hearing more acute, he surmised.

He saw her wriggle her toes in the plush rug once he had freed her of her boots and socks. Her toenails were glistening with a burgundy polish. For some reason, he found it fascinating. He couldn’t remember his Jemma bothering with such luxuries in more recent times. Not that she really even had the opportunity to, with all the chaos that had surrounded them of late.

And then he saw Jemma roll one of her ankles to the side, balancing on the side of her foot nervously. Fitz cleared his throat, and started to rise. He kept his eyes closed as they travelled past the length of her body, and didn’t open them again until he had straightened fully.

He realised her hand was still resting against his shoulder. His eyes shifted sideways, noticing the matching colour on her fingernails before looking back at her face.

She looked so small, standing barefoot and looking at him with curious eyes.

“How have you changed so much in such a short time?”

He shook his head vehemently. “I haven’t.”

She searched his face, her eyes hovering over his beard, and back to his eyes. “You have.” She looked as though her brain was trying to figure out a puzzle that just didn’t quite make sense.

Fitz hoped the lingering alcohol would be enough for her to disregard her suspicions. “I guess I’ve just… grown up a bit.” He rubbed absently at his beard and coughed awkwardly. “Thought I would test a new look.”

Her index finger moved up to explore his jaw. “It’s not just the look… your whole demeanour is just more…” she bit her lip as she tried to capture what was eluding her, “…mature.”

The look of panic that flashed through his features was so minute that she missed it. “I’d better go.”

He reached his hand behind himself, fumbling for the door handle.

“Don’t.” Her eyes looked up at him pleadingly.

He shook his head, trying to clear the rush of familiarity that flooded him as her eyes explored his. “Je…” Before he could even correct himself in using her first name, her lips crashed against his. His eyes were still open in shock and he made to move his head back, until he realised his retreat was obstructed by the door.

Her lips pressed into his, inquisitive but insistent. He lifted both hands up to her shoulders to push her away, but in the time it took for him to move his arms, she had already shifted to an open mouth kiss, and the endorphins started coursing through him.

His arms made it to her shoulders, but merely rested there, his eyes closing as he opened his mouth against hers. And then he felt her fingers curl behind his neck.

His brain was screaming at him to pull away, but his body pressed against hers in rebellion.

Her free hand grasped at the collar of his leather jacket as her tongue brushed against his lower lip. The palms of his hands were lying flat against her collar bone. But when her tongue probed more insistently, exploring until it found his, his fingers reflexively dug into the muscle of her shoulders.

He was having trouble focusing on anything other than the feel of her touch. Her familiar taste and scent were clouding his judgement, his body responding automatically to her pheromones. And when she started walking backwards, he stumbled with her, lips bumping and breath mingling. She didn’t stop until they reached the end of her bed.

She removed the hand from his neck, using it instead to get her bearings as she sat down. He could feel the jacket tighten against his neck as she twisted the material more firmly in her grip, ensuring his lips remained in close proximity to her own.

Each time her mouth briefly broke from his to change position, he heard a small sigh, triggering a cascade of hormones with each new sound. He found himself pulling away slightly at times, just so he could induce it again.

His abdominal muscles were burning from the effort of bending down to her lips. She must have somehow picked up on it, because she shuffled backwards on the bed and then she laid herself down, pulling on his bandana possessively until he was lying on top of her. He felt her thighs bracketing either side of his legs, and it caused her skirt to ride up, until it was just barely maintaining her modesty.

His cock twitched at the thought of what rested an inch from it. His body had become accustomed to hers over the years, the arousal she elicited in him almost instinctive. He dug his fingers into the flesh of her hip, while his other hand weaved into her hair. She pulled his face down, giving him a searing kiss as she wiggled herself into a more comfortable position beneath him.

“I thought it was just your friendship I missed these holidays, Fitz.” He felt her words as she mumbled them against his mouth. And then she pressed her lips against his with the slightest pressure. “But the moment I heard your voice tonight, I realised it was more than that. Something just felt… different.”

“That’s just the alcohol talking,” he said. He was trying to come up with something to rationalise her thoughts.

“No, it isn’t,” she countered. She kissed him again; on his cheek, and along his jaw, then back to his mouth. “And there is just something about you tonight that…” He never heard the rest of her thoughts, because she instead let out a moan and pressed her tongue into his mouth, curling it behind his upper teeth. He didn’t discourage her.

He was going to Hell. Well, he would be, if he believed in that sort of thing. And despite his mind warning him that this was a _really_ bad idea, his body was ignoring its suggestion to pull away.

“Simmons, it’s just your body sending you those messages, not your brain.” He realised how hypocritical he was being as soon as the words left his mouth.

She grabbed his face with both hands and lifted his head until she could arch one eyebrow at him. “Fitz, are you trying to give me a biology lesson?”

His head was foggy. His cock was throbbing. He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Well,” she surmised, “anatomy is an _integral_ component.” She slid her hand from his face to grab the fingers that were resting against her hip and guided them lower, until they landed between her thighs. “So I expect you to know it _thoroughly._ ”

He saw her smirk briefly before her lips were against his once more, and he rubbed his fingers against her centre. He could already feel how wet she was through the material of her underwear. He propped himself up on the elbow of his other arm to prevent himself from squashing her, but she seemed insistent on pulling him down tightly against her.

Her fingers slid under his shirt and jacket, digging into the taut muscles of his back.

He started to rub more firmly, able to discern the small nub of nerves even beneath the layer of cotton. She groaned into his mouth, but didn’t stop kissing him. He slowly moved his fingers to the edge of her knickers. He was just about to curl them under the material when he felt her pelvis buck up against him. She obviously knew what he had planned as well.

He felt Jemma’s nails trailing up his spine; they were longer than what he was accustomed to. He knew she kept them short when they did more work in the lab and in the field. Like they had been recently.

In his own time.

And it was that innocuous sensation that finally drove home the realisation that he was back at the Academy, an exuberant and carefree Jemma nestled beneath him. His mind pictured his Jemma, that pleading look she had given him when she feared they were going to be separated again. It jolted him back to the reality of the situation.

This was wrong.

“I’m sorry.” He scrambled away from her, towards the end of the bed.

She gave him a sympathetic stare. “Fitz, I’m okay with this.” She must have thought he was apologising for being too forward. Or that he was nervous. Or anything _other_ than playing with the fabric of time. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He had really fucked up, but staying any longer would only escalate things. As much as his body craved what lay beneath him - a reminder of what he had been denied for far too long - he was wracked with guilt thinking about the expectant Jemma waiting for him. _His_ Jemma. He admonished himself. He _should_ feel guilty _._

This wouldn’t be fair on _any_ of them. He needed to get back to the monolith _now._ He just didn’t know what to say to fix things.

He stood up and backed towards the door. Jemma propped herself up on her elbows, face flushed and breath coming out in short bursts as she watched him back away. His gaze didn’t break from hers. He could see the confusion in her eyes.

“This isn’t right,” he said. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He gave her a repentant look as he closed the door. “I’m sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz knocked gently.

Nothing.

“Simmons.” His voice was just above a whisper.

A few seconds passed.

He tapped again, louder. “Simmons.” This time, it was at normal volume, but it sounded loud in the quiet hallway, everyone else still at the party.

Still nothing.

He shuffled nervously from foot to foot, debating his options. He was just about to retrieve her spare key from his wallet when the door opened a crack.

“You’re back.” She looked up at him from the darkness of her room, brushing absently at her mussed up hair. Her pupils were dilated and her breathing was rapid. He hoped he hadn’t startled her.

“Yeah, I’m back,” he said redundantly. She mustn’t have checked her text messages yet. She rested her head against the doorframe, her cheeks rosy as she smiled up at him. She looked at him almost dreamily. Or was she drunk? Or sleepy? Maybe all of them.

“So, you’re a bit more relaxed now?” she asked, one eyebrow arched inquiringly.

Being stuck in transit for almost a day had been stressful, but when he saw her looking at him with just a tinge of concern, he felt a calmness flow through him. He smiled down at her. “Yeah, now I’m here with you, I…”

“Wait, did you…” She cut his sentence short as she put her hand up to lightly graze against his smooth jaw. “Did you just shave?!”

He pulled back slightly and put his hand up to rub self-consciously at his jaw. “Yeah?” He didn’t see how that was the most pressing question after more than two months apart.

“Oh.” She almost sounded disappointed. “I’ve decided I don’t mind a bit of scruff.”

 _Where the hell had that come from?_ He thought she _liked_ guys who were clean-shaven. Something about being able to see the symmetry of their face better. When had this new phase developed?

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “And your hair…”

“What about it?” he asked. He was sometimes a bit embarrassed by his thick curls, even if plenty of girls over the years had seemed to jealously coo over them.

“Before… I just thought it was… shorter.” She shook her head as though she must have been mistaken. “Anyway…”

Fitz eyed her critically. He hadn’t cut it during the break, so of course it was a bit longer.  Well, thicker really. Why did she find that weird? How many drinks had she actually had at the party?

And then her eyes seemed to take in all of him: the red fez and bowtie, the cotton shirt and tweed jacket.

“Ohhhh.” Her brain finally seemed to put all the pieces together. “You’re the Eleventh Doctor.” She patted his hairless cheek briefly. “The shaving makes sense now.”

“Huh?” He did find her confusing at times, but currently Simmons was leaving him more baffled than usual.

She pushed the door open more fully, then grabbed him by the bowtie and hauled him past the doorframe. “I approve.”

Apart from the shard of light from the hallway, the only other source of illumination was the moonlight coming through the window. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. He could finally make out the police vest and checked tie and – his eyes widened – rather short skirt she was wearing. She was actually pulling the hem down slightly, as though self-conscious now that she had seen his reaction. And then he spotted the long red wig lying in a heap on the floor.

“So… you decided on Amy Pond?”

“You’re only just acknowledging that _now_?” she asked incredulously.

“I, err.” He gave her a perplexed look. He thought he had figured it out remarkably quickly. “I’m just confirming?”

“Ack, I thought it was obvious.” She said it in a Scottish accent. Correction: an attempted Scottish accent. It was awful; he couldn’t help but grimace. She slapped him playfully on the arm. “Hey, at least I tried,” she said, her normal accent returning. Thankfully.

“Well,” he started as his eyes skimmed over her costume once more, lifting his fez by the slightest degree and tilting it at her, “I _very_ much approve.”

She put her hands out until they had grasped his forearms. “Isn’t that why you decided to come back dressed as the Doctor?” It was her turn to look puzzled.

 _Come back_? Back from where? The party? He wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about.

“I, umm.” He had no idea what she had planned to wear and had independently chosen his costume. At least he thought he did. Maybe subconsciously he knew what she would pick, and had chosen his outfit accordingly.

But then her hands were sliding down his arms and an answer from him became redundant. “You really didn’t need to go to that much effort.” She curled her fingers around the palms of his hands.

He honestly would have been happy to just glimpse her contagious smile tonight. Get a brief hug, tell her how much he missed her and maybe drop some subtle hints about going out for dinner later in the week.

Just test the waters.

Now his hands were clasped in hers, and she was looking at him with a sincerity he had never seen before.

Things were going swimmingly.

“I was just wanting to check you are okay,” he said.

“After the way you left things? Not really.”

Aaaand now it was back to being confusing.

The last time he had seen her was when he dropped her off at the airport at the end of the last semester. He could do little more than lean over from the driver’s seat to give her a brief hug. It was a pretty awkward hug, logistically speaking. The centre console dug into his hip and her bags were perched on her lap. But it had seemed a reasonable best-friend hug under the circumstances. What more did she expect?

“But if you are here to rectify that, I’m willing to forgive you.” She swung their arms where they hung between them and scrunched her nose up at him. Okay, so she was just joking with him? How could being around her shift from torture to elation so rapidly?

She dragged him fully into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. He jumped at the sound it made as it banged shut.

But before he even had a chance to consider what ‘rectifying the situation’ actually entailed, she made it pretty clear. She stood on her toes and cupped his face in her hands as she pressed her lips against his. There was no hesitancy, or awkwardness; she was moving her lips against his with an assuredness that astounded him.

He had hoped when he had gotten to her room that they would have a chance to talk. Anything more than confirming there was a _possibility_ that she had feelings for him were a bonus. And now her fingers were sliding to the back of his neck as she trapped his bottom lip between her own.

Kissing was _definitely_ a bonus.

His hands cautiously came to rest against her hips. Hers slid down to the lapels of his jacket.

“Leather is fine and all,” she said, giving him a small smirk, “but I _do_ like a man who can pull off tweed.”

They stood looking at each other for a long moment; one that seemed to be waiting for the tone to shift. There was only so much playful banter they could run through before they needed to make a decision: take things further, or back out now and dismiss it as an over-exuberant, alcohol-fuelled indiscretion.   

And then he saw it: the shift in her demeanour to something more serious. She obviously realised the enormity of the situation as well. He’d understand if she decided to halt things. They had a precious friendship behind them to potentially ruin, and he would _never_ want to jeopardise the bond they had.

He could tell she was searching his eyes, to get a clue of which way he was favouring. He was suddenly too nervous to say anything, so he tried not to react. He would go along with whatever she decided.

Her hands were still clasped tightly around the material of his jacket and she bowed her head down, her bare feet shuffling on the rug.

He heard her take a shuddering breath.

His hand twitched against her hip.

And then she tipped her head back up again, her eyes hopeful. “Can we move to the bed?” she asked in a quiet voice.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you okay with this?” Simmons asked. She looked a little worried. Like she might scare him off or something.

They were lying on their sides, noses barely an inch apart. Her vest had been discarded on the floor, soon followed by the fez and his jacket. Only the thin cotton of their respective shirts now separated their torsos.

Fitz wanted her to know that if she were willing, he would follow her as far as she wanted to go. That as soon as her lips had pressed against his, he was powerless to resist. That he couldn’t fathom one circumstance in the entire universe that would make him want to leave.

But all he said was: “Yes.”

“Good.” She leaned in and kissed him, much the same as when she had drawn his mouth against hers earlier. But the fact that they were now huddled closely on her small bed made Fitz’s heart beat faster just thinking about the intimacy. Her hands roamed down his side, then pulled at where his shirt was tucked into his pants. He felt her soft fingers graze over his abdomen, and he flinched at the sensation. “Just try not to overthink things this time.”

This time? What did she mean by _this_ time? Was she implying there was going to be a _next_ time?

He suddenly felt her fingers against his jaw, tilting his chin until he was looking into her eyes. He could see the silent plea. And he realised he was doing exactly what she had just told him not to do. He berated himself. _Stop thinking. Focus on feeling._

She leaned into him, offering a slow, measured kiss. He rested his hand on her cheek, tracing the outline of her ear with his index finger. It helped him keep his bearings while his eyes were closed.

She ran her hand down his neck to his shoulder, and pushed gently until he rolled onto his back. She shifted until she was lying half on top of him, one breast pressing against his chest. He was going to move his hand down to squeeze it, before realising it was still tantalisingly encased behind her shirt and bra. He made a point to get back to it later.

And then her mouth was back on his, but this time he felt the slightest brush of her tongue against his bottom lip. He was a little stunned at the sensation, and she must have realised that, because she pulled her head back a fraction. He opened his eyes, but he could hardly see her. He moved his hand and gathered the curtain of dark hair that shielded her face, then tucked it behind her ear.

Her brow had the slightest crinkle to it. Was she reconsidering? Or was she slowing things down, because she was concerned that he wasn’t ready? He kept looking at her, slowly lifting his mouth towards hers, giving her time to pull back if she desired.

But when his lips finally met hers again, her eyes slipped closed, and she pressed into him a little more forcefully. He closed his eyes too, tentatively letting his tongue poke out the smallest degree to graze against her. She parted her lips slightly, and then he felt her tongue pushing out to meet his.

He could feel her fingers tugging at his bowtie, and he moved his hand until he found the knot on the curl of material that hung from her neck.

Simmons managed to get his undone and tossed on the floor after several seconds. She capitalised on having her hand free by tracing it around the newly exposed skin of his neck, her mouth still eagerly moving against his.

He was trying to concentrate on kissing her thoroughly, while also trying to decipher the offending material that still covered her chest. He couldn’t seem to work out where to pull the loop to make it unravel.

What kind of evil accessory was this?

His hand was still fiddling with the knot when he felt Simmons’ hand flatten against his chest, and her lips moved to his neck.

He missed the feel of her lips on his, but he couldn’t deny that the wet kisses on his skin were a worthy alternative. And it meant he could focus more on freeing her from the tie. It was not only frustrating, but embarrassing; he was known for his dexterity, and he was being foiled by a cheap piece of costume material.

He shifted awkwardly until he could get both hands on the tie. The back of his hands brushed against her breasts as he moved his fingers experimentally around the material.

She pulled her head back. “Fitz, stop.”

He pulled his hands away quickly, concerned he had done something wrong. He was consumed by her, but he didn’t want to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

She pushed herself up and took a few calming breaths.

And then she smiled at him. Her hand moved up to her neck, and she wriggled the material upwards until it was suddenly free from her collar. “It’s only a clip on.”

His head fell back down on the bed in relief and he let out a sigh. He had been so sure that he had finally reached the end of this fantasy.

“You didn’t want to let me in on that detail a little earlier?” he asked.

“I found your persistence endearing.” She tossed the tie on the floor, then leaned down and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “But there’s only so long I could wait.”

And then she pushed herself back up and tucked her legs underneath herself. Her fingers moved to unbutton his shirt. She started with the bottom one, so he took his opportunity to start working on her top one.

He couldn’t tell if it was the feel of her nails gently brushing against his abdominal muscles, or the swell of her bra-clad breasts slowly being revealed, but his fingers seemed to lose the ability to function as a cohesive unit.

His mouth hung open as the cleft between her breasts was exposed. His fingers fumbled. He wasn’t being at all efficient. He could have tried blaming it on the alcohol, but he knew it was really because he was trying to process the fact that Simmons was undressing him as eagerly as he was trying disrobe her.

“Fitz, I know you are shy about this sort of thing.” She momentarily abandoned her task to assist him, making quick work of the next two buttons of her shirt.

“No I’m not.” He was. He just didn’t think a lack of confidence now would be very attractive.

She gave him a knowing tilt of her head as she finally undid her last button.

He heard his breath quicken as her shirt fell open, her porcelain torso now visible as well. His mouth went dry when her breasts bulged forward as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves behind her back.

“It’s okay that you’re nervous.” She threw her shirt on the pile and returned her attention to his remaining buttons. “And maybe you are trying to be chivalrous.” She leaned forward as the button closest to his collar finally popped free. “But I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I want this.” She pushed the material to the side, and her fingers rested against his ribs, so lightly that it tickled.

Her gaze skimmed over his abdomen and chest, and ended on his face. She leaned forward, placing a heartfelt kiss on his lips before pulling her head back an inch from his, staring directly into his eyes. “That I want _you._ ”

He was suddenly dosed with adrenalin. He surged up and crashed his lips into hers, physically showing the gratitude he couldn’t verbalise. He sat up and focused on kissing her neck, her cheek, under her jaw, as her fingers blindly worked on his belt. He could feel himself hardening each time her fingers bumped against the crotch of his trousers.

He had just ducked his head down and kissed the top of each breast where it curved at the rim of her bra when he felt her start to pull the zip down on his pants. He grabbed at her hands, not wanting her to pull him free when he could feel how tightly his cock was pressing into the material of his trousers. The last thing he needed was to get certain parts caught.

His head was still level with her chest. He looked up, and saw a hint of apprehension. Was she finally starting to realise the magnitude of their decision? Or was she worried that he wasn’t prepared to take things that far?

He moved one hand to cradle the back of her head, and slid the other down to wrap around her back. There was the briefest moment of tension in her body, but then he felt her relax in his embrace as he pressed his mouth against hers.  He supported her as he lay the two of them down. When he felt her pillow against the back of his hand, her gave her one more firm kiss, before standing up and grabbing the waistband of his trousers.

As he carefully pushed the thick material over his bulge, he caught a glimpse of the cotton underneath: dark blue. He only remembered just now which boxer shorts he had chosen earlier in the night and thanked the cosmos. He hadn’t exactly envisioned himself stripping down with his best friend. At least it wasn’t the ones with the cartoon monkeys over them, even if Simmons had seen him in them before.

He hastily dumped his trousers on the floor, and added his shirt to the pile then crawled back to his previous position above her. His craving was renewed, just from being bereft of her lips for that brief time. He sought them out as he moulded his body down against hers.

Even through the layers of clothing still separating their lower halves, he could feel the heat radiating between them. He felt his erection pushing into her pelvis as he nestled himself more comfortably against her.

He heard her sharp intake of breath at the contact.

“Simmons, are you sure you are ready?” It was pretty obvious that _he_ was.

“I am _more_ than ready.”

A moment of panic engulfed him. His brow furrowed in realisation.  “I don’t have any…”

“I’m on the Pill,” she said, before he managed to finish the sentence.

“And you’re not worried about…” She interrupted his question by pulling his mouth down against hers. He moved against her for a few more seconds, until he felt her break away.

She shook her head. “Unless, since our last medical, you have gone and had…”

“Nope!” he said emphatically, cutting her off before she could finish that train of thought.

“Me neither,” she confirmed. He felt one of her hands caressing the nape of his neck, while the other traced the outline of his spine.

“But even on the Pill there’s a chance that…”

“More than ninety-nine percent efficacy. I’ll take those odds.” Her hands halted their ministrations. She pulled her head back and gave him a sympathetic stare. “Fitz, are you stalling?”

“No!” he insisted. He took a deep breath. Wait, was he? Now that this was becoming reality, it seemed to be happening rather quickly. In his plan for the night he hadn’t even dared think past the point of admitting he _liked_ her, let alone thinking shagging her was on the cards.

But then he saw the desire in her eyes, and a wave of lust washed through him. He wanted to experience all those parts of her that were still elusively hidden behind clothing. He opened his mouth against hers as he lifted his hips until he could weave his hand between their lower bodies.

His hand edged up her inner thigh, delving under her skirt. The material was taut against her skin but it was being hiked up as his hand continued its journey. He was worried that when he finally reached his intended destination, he wouldn’t have much room to remove her underwear. His fingers inched higher, and he soon realised that obstacle seemed to have sorted itself out.

“You’re not wearing any knickers?” He wasn’t sure if the words came out like a question or a statement.

“I may have, uh,” she hesitated for a moment, giving him a sheepish look, “taken matters into my own hands earlier.” His eyes widened at the thought. She bit her lip. “Thinking about you.”

His eyebrows rose. “Me?” he choked out, in case he had misheard.

She nodded her head. “And the way your hands felt against me.” His eyebrows would have risen further, but they were already at maximum elevation.

He was baffled; he couldn’t even remember the last time he had touched her, apart from the hug at the airport. And certainly not anywhere… erotic. He knew women usually had more sensitive erogenous zones than men, but surely the odd brush here and there wasn’t enough to have her lusting over him. Which contact was she referring to? The crook of her elbow? Her neck? He supposed his hand did rest against the point above her knee at times, when they sat in his room and watched movies. He started to worry that maybe he had been doing something inappropriate and he didn’t even _realise_.

He couldn’t deny that occasionally he thought about her when he was… alone. Even more so these last holidays. Not that he would even _consider_ letting her in on that little detail. He had just never imagined she would do the same. Was this just a recent development?

“Fitz!” She actually clicked her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “I swear if you don’t hurry up, I might have to do it again.”

He gulped. His brain actually stuttered for a moment at the thought. And then his cock twitched as a reminder that it was eager to capitalise on the situation.

 _Maybe another time_ , he decided.  Short of a written invitation, that was about as clear as she could be with him. He was still at a loss to know what had triggered such an escalation in her behaviour, but at this point, he didn’t really care.

He hastily grabbed his cotton boxers and pushed them over his backside, somehow getting them past one knee and then wriggling his legs until they were miraculously at his ankles. He shucked them off with his toes, trying to maintain as much contact with her delightfully compliant body as possible.

He ducked his head down, exchanging sloppy kisses with her as his fingers fumbled between her folds. He could feel how wet she already was. He was thankful, because now that he had accepted things were most definitely going ahead, he didn’t know how long he could contain himself. He moved his fingers experimentally, feeling Simmons moan against him when he brushed over her clit. His hormones were surging at the sensation of her slick skin against his hand, and the sounds it was eliciting in her; it made him want to feel her with more than just his fingers.

He reluctantly pulled himself away from her mouth and sat up so he could focus on getting her skirt out of the way. He decided against wasting time trying to deal with something as time-consuming as a zipper, instead pushing the hem up. Simmons seemed to be in agreeance, lifting her hips in assistance. He pushed the material until it was bunched at her waist.

He stalled for a moment at the sight of her laid out before him, legs parted slightly and chest rising rapidly with each breath. His eyes darted up to her face, and he saw the briefest moment of insecurity wash over her. But then she must have seen the awe in his features, because it soon merged into affection, and she nodded at him.

He laid himself back down against her, shifting a little until the tip of his penis was pushing between her folds. He couldn’t feel much more than a warm wetness where they were connected, but that sensation alone had him hardening even further.

His tongue delved out and pushed against hers as he slid himself along her length. And then he felt her fingers traverse down his body and delicately wrap around his cock. She repositioned her pelvis as she guided the head to her entrance.

He could feel himself just barely pushing into her. She felt so deliciously tight around him that he was fighting the urge to push himself in fully. Their mouths hung open against each other, all focus of sensation diverted to where their lower bodies were joined. And then he felt her hand come to rest against the cheek of his backside as she tilted her pelvis. She slowly pulled him towards her as she pushed up, until he was fully sheathed within her.

“Simmons,” Fitz uttered, as he groaned at the sensation, “you feel amazing.”

“Fitz,” she begged, “start moving.”

He pulled back until he was almost fully out, then pushed back in again. He started slow, enjoying the feeling of being engulfed by her. He ducked down to kiss her as he kept rotating his hips against her, but soon the flood of endorphins were insisting on more, and he sped up the action.

The palms of her hands were splayed across his back as she rocked her hips in time with his.

He braced his forearms either side of her on the bed, but as the feelings from his lower half became more intense, his mouth broke from hers so he could concentrate more fully on sliding into her. He pushed himself up a bit and moved one hand to dig into her hip, pulling her against him each time he thrust forward. The movement caused him to change angle slightly.

“Yes, Fitz, there,” she urged. It all felt amazing to him, but the pleasure he could hear tumbling from her mouth, notched the sensation up a whole new level. He kept his pelvis at the same angle, but pushed more firmly with each stroke.

He heard her breath coming out in short bursts and he started to push into her faster.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned between whimpers. He could hear the urgency in her voice, knowing she must be close, and he was trying desperately to get her there. She seemed to be enjoying his movements but he could already feel the tension brewing in his groin, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to outlast her. He wanted to do all he could to help her reach ecstasy with him.

He kept pumping into her as he reached his hand between them, but only managed to rub at her clit a few times before he lost his rhythm. He abandoned the idea to focus more fully on hitting the spot that she seemed to keep praising him for. He moved his hand back to her hip, once again pulling her more firmly against him with each thrust of his pelvis.

“Ungh, right there!” she confirmed.

Her validation gave him a boost of confidence. He kept pumping, harder and faster, the friction building on each stroke. He felt her hands grasping at him.

“Fitz,” she whined, eyes squeezed tightly shut, “I’m close!”  He closed his eyes too, focusing solely on hitting the same spot over and over.

And then her fingers dug into the flesh of his arse cheek, as she pulled him hard against her, pulling one knee up higher. The change in angle combined with her moans of encouragement finally caused his whole body to tense. He saw stars when his eyes rolled back in his head and his legs strained as he felt his cock pulse inside her. The rest of his body was taut as his hips stuttered against her a few times and he let out a shuddering breath.

His muscles started to relax and he carefully laid his body down until he felt his slick abdomen resting against hers. It took a few moments for his brain to recalibrate.

“Oh God, Simmons, you didn’t…” He dropped his head down against her chest, trying to catch his breath.

Her breaths were coming out in rapid bursts. “Not quite,” she admitted. “But it still felt good.” She placed the palm of her hand against his cheek as she tried to calm her breathing. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he groaned, finally recovering enough strength to lift his head. “You are brilliant, and I am terrible.” His chin was resting on her sternum. “I’m sorry, I know you were close.” He slowly moved until his softening cock slipped out of her. He just now realised he was nestled between her bra-clad breasts; he was eager to explore those more thoroughly when he got the chance. “But you are so _fucking sexy_ right now that I couldn’t hold out any longer.”

She initially looked coy upon hearing his admittance, but then her demeanour transformed until she gazed at him with honesty. “Fitz, I told you I already orgasmed earlier tonight. You don’t have to worry about it right now.”

“But you know I will,” he said, with a worried furrow in his brow. He bent his head down to kiss the swell of her breasts.

“Honestly, we can wait until you have recovered and try again later.” She laced her hands through his curls.

The prospect of there being a ‘later’ very much appealed to him.

He crawled his way up her lithe frame until his face hovered above hers.

He tried to give her his best no-nonsense glare. She looked up at him, not quite sure what he meant by it. “Stop being so damn polite,” he said. And then he kissed her before she had a chance to form a rebuttal.

He started to edge back down her body, placing wet kisses down her neck. He could feel her wriggle beneath him as he made a path past her breasts and stomach. He felt her flinch when she seemed to realise his intent as he kissed below her belly button.

“Don’t feel obliged to…”

“I _want_ to,” he interjected and then placed a kiss on her inner thigh.

“Are you sure?”

He moved to the other side and repeated the action. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled, unwilling to relinquish contact with her skin.

“Okay, only if you _want_ to,” she assured him, looking down at him with sincerity. “But you don’t _need_ to… oh my God,” she cried out as he swirled his tongue around her clit, “I change my mind. You do need to.”


	5. Chapter 5

Why Simmons had even considered discouraging Fitz from doing this, she had no idea. She knew he had talented hands. She just hadn’t realised until now that he had the tongue to match.

His hands were on her hips and his tongue was flicking over her swollen nub. He kept changing direction, and she wasn’t sure if he was doing it deliberately, or just couldn’t decide which action to focus on. She was surprised at just how pleasurable the inconsistency was.

But she was already so worked up, that the feel of his breath alone rushing over her folds felt wonderful. The effects of the alcohol were still lingering, but the sensations firing from her lower half were equally contributing to the pleasurable haze that was clouding her mind. She closed her eyes and moved her hand down until it rested on top of his head, threading his soft curls between her fingers.

She was relieved he had decided to come back. Maybe he had thought his new look was too much to live up to? She found it quite adorable that he must have felt more comfortable coming back as the Doctor to complement her costume. Fitz was certainly a strange one at times, but she actually found his quirks quite appealing.

Her hand kept contact with his head as his mouth experimented with different speeds and pressure. She was trying to keep a balance between letting him know how much she wanted him, while also allowing him to move at his own pace. If he wanted guidance, she would give it, but she didn’t want the new territory they had entered to become too overwhelming and risk losing him again.

She felt him shift, one of his hands sliding down to her inner thigh. He gently pushed into the flesh and she parted her thighs slightly. She felt his tongue drag down her slit, now that he had more room to explore, and then she felt the tip probing hesitantly at her entrance. She spread her legs a fraction more, and he correctly interpreted it as permission to continue.

The hand that had been on her other hip now moved down also. He used his thumb to pull her lip to the side, opening her up a little more as his tongue pushed into her, just barely. He hesitated for a moment, as though gauging her reaction.

She ran her hand through his hair, then pulled him, just slightly, against her. He delved in a little further, then back. She sighed as he did it again. Her hips rocked the smallest degree against his mouth. He seemed to be spurred on by her reaction, and he did it a few more times.  Each push was a little more firm than the last, and his nose bumped against her clit on each down stroke.

It felt good. Amazing, really. But not quite as good as what he had been doing earlier. She was just about to indicate as much when he seemed to work it out on his own. He flattened his tongue and dragged it back up her folds until it was once again tracing small circles at the exact spot she wanted him.

“Oh, Fitz.” She pushed her hand more firmly into the back of his head in encouragement. “Yes.”

He continued swirling his tongue around her for a few more seconds. And then he closed his lips around her bud, and sucked.

She hadn’t been expecting it. Her hand clenched a tuft of hair and her back arched as her pelvis pulled back at the intensity. His mouth abruptly moved away, and she felt the cool night air flood over her.

She opened her eyes, and when she looked down, she could see his bewildered face peering up at her.

“Was that too much?” His brow furrowed slightly.

“God, no.” Her words were coming out between shallow breaths. “It’s good. Keep going.” She realised she was still scrunching his hair. “Sorry.” She loosened her fingers. But she kept her hand in place, as though the extra contact was confirmation that it was really him causing such delectable sensations.

She massaged her fingers gently over his scalp. He licked his bottom lip as he looked up at her, almost in gratitude. As though he was the one getting all the perks.

But then she remembered that he had just told her how sexy he thought she was. _Her!_ She could hardly believe it; she had never even imagined Fitz using the word, let alone in regards to her.

And then he dipped his head again, and she felt the breadth of his tongue sliding against her once more. She laid herself back down and closed her eyes as she savoured the heat of his mouth against her.

It seemed surreal that this was even happening. She must have drifted off after he had left earlier; after she had needed to finish herself off because of what he had started. For some reason, his appearance at the party had seemed to spark something in her, and now that it had been triggered, she couldn’t fathom why she had never given credence to it before.

Over this last break - when they had been separated for the longest time since they met - she had found herself realising how much she missed him. She had assured herself it was merely that, denying that there might be something more than just companionship and admiration that she wanted from her best friend. 

Maybe it was a combination of alcohol and absence and affection and… _attraction_ that had all seemed to culminate tonight, but it had resulted in a desire that was more intense than she had ever expected. And even though she had been worried that she had overwhelmed him by pushing things too fast when they had first stumbled onto her bed, it had felt like hardly any time had passed before he was back at her door again.

She still couldn’t fully ascertain why he had felt the need to change his appearance before returning to her room. Maybe he had wanted her to accept the Fitz that she was so used to, instead of some illusion that he had seemed to create for the party. The beard had looked good, but she had to admit she liked the feel of his clean-shaven jaw against her slick skin. She savoured each slide of his smooth chin against her folds in unison with his talented tongue.

To be honest, she would take him any way he came at the moment.

After their initial encounter, she had been concerned that she had frightened him off; that she had ruined their friendship and any possibility of exploring what might happen if they agreed to at least try for something more. She had tried to slow things down when he returned, to give him time to process their rapidly escalating desire. At certain points, she was sure he was too scared to take that next step. Yet here he was with his head between her legs, steadily driving her towards her second orgasm of the night.

He was settling into a more consistent rhythm, so her body started to predict each sweep of his tongue. She felt her heart thumping more rapidly as he continued his ministrations, her chest expanding more fully with each breath. The heavy sigh that escaped from his mouth each time he took a breath elicited a cascade of hormones in her, and she couldn’t help her thighs squeeze slightly against his ears.

And then he suddenly halted.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down the length of her body at him.

“Why are you stopping?” She didn’t know whether it came across as concern, or desperation, but her body was thrumming with anticipation, and she was reluctant to let it fade.

The shadows made it hard to see too much detail, but she could see the moonlight glinting in his eyes, and the glistening between her legs.

“Shuffle down a bit,” he said.

She was about to reassure him that if he just continued what he was doing, he was going to more than repay his debt. But she couldn’t resist the expectant look he was giving her. When he had a task, his commitment was unquestionable. Who was she to argue with Fitz when he had a plan?

So she obliged, wriggling closer until he could kneel at the foot of the bed, and give himself more freedom to move. He looped one arm under the back of her leg, until her upper thigh came to rest on his shoulder. His hand descended upon her small thatch of curls, and he used his fingers to part her folds, exposing her clitoris more fully. And then he flattened his tongue, slowly tracing a path from her opening, moving steadily upwards.

She was still propped up on her elbows, enamoured at the sight of him dragging his tongue against her with such focus. When he reached his target, he closed his lips around her, flicking his tongue against the throbbing bundle. She couldn’t hold herself up any more, and fell back down against the bed as her body focused solely on Fitz’s mouth. Her eyes closed, as though her brain was trying to divert more attention to her sense of touch.

She rolled her hips in time with his tongue, craving more pressure against her sensitised nerves. And then she felt one of his fingers slide into her entrance. Her hips bucked into him, bumping into his chin.

“Simmons, you’re not making this easy for me.” She could hear the playful sulk in his tone. He shifted until he could place his forearm across her lower abdomen. “Stop moving.”

“God, Fitz, _don’t_ stop moving,” she pleaded. Her hand blindly reached down until it found his springy curls once again.

And then she felt him slip a second finger into her, gently probing against her inner walls. Even though his forearm against her pelvis restricted her movements, she could feel her internal muscles clenching around him, craving as much contact as possible. She dug her fingers into the back of his head.

And then his mouth was back against her, lapping at her more insistently as his fingers started moving. She couldn’t help but groan at the sensation, biting at her lip as the sound faded in the confines of her room.

As she felt the tension within her coiling, she let go of his head, grasping the comforter in her hands instead. She didn’t want to inadvertently grasp his hair too tightly again.

She was vaguely aware of mumbling his name, over and over, as though she needed to verbally confirm it was really Fitz instigating such delightful sensations. The sound of his name falling from her lips in worship seemed to spur him on, ratcheting up his movements another level. And then his fingers curled slightly.

She took in a sharp breath. “There, Fitz!” Her breaths were coming in shallow bursts, increasing in pace along with his fingers. “Oh God, _right there_!”

He took heed of her advice and pumped his fingers in the same pattern, keeping pressure on his forearm as she tried to squirm beneath him. Her hands clenched into the material until her knuckles were white. She felt a warmth starting to spread from her lower abdomen as his tongue kept circling her throbbing bud.

And then he seemed to remember how she had reacted earlier, and his lips closed around her as he sucked against her clit. She felt her whole body tense and her vision whited out. Her spine arched as her backside pressed hard against the mattress. His fingers stilled as her inner muscles clenched around him, and he stopped the movements of his tongue against her, but she could still feel the heat of his mouth covering her.

 A few moments passed, and then her fingers loosened against the material of her comforter as her body relaxed and she flopped back down. A long breath finally escaped.

She felt his curls tickle her skin as his head came to rest against her inner thigh. His breath flowed over the moisture between her legs and it took a few seconds before she was even able to open her eyes. His rapid gasps matched her own, and when she lifted her head to gaze down at him, she was surprised to see him staring back at her with such reverence.

His pupils were dilated and his cheeks were flushed and his hair stuck out at a funny angle where her fingers had been. And it hit her, all of a sudden, that he was about the sexiest thing she had ever seen in her life.


	6. Chapter 6

Fitz looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, staring directly into a pair of bewildered blue eyes. He had just slept with his best friend.

He still couldn’t quite believe this was all real. But then he changed his focus, until he could see her reflection as well, curled up on the bed in the background.

He had just shagged Simmons. And she _liked_ it. He felt a rush of gratification at the thought.

He looked at himself again in the mirror. Was that what pride looked like?

His musings were halted when he heard laughing and off-key singing drifting up the hallway. A few of Jemma’s dorm mates were obviously entertaining each other post-party in the common room. They would probably gossip about what a loner he was and how he had left the party early and missed all the fun. He felt a little smug at the notion. If only they knew.

Fitz rinsed the cloth that he and Simmons had used to clean up and hung it over the sink. He drank a glass of water and washed his face, splashing the cool water against his tired eyes. Now that the adrenalin was starting to wear off, he felt the exhaustion of the last day catching up with him. He looked over his shoulder, noticing that Simmons’ eyes were closed and her breathing was evening out. She had already seemed pretty dozy when he had first arrived, and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips at the thought of his role in finally wearing her out.

He was jet-lagged, and tipsy, and most definitely love-drunk. And it felt brilliant. He could tell she had enjoyed it too; the sounds and involuntary flinches and times she had forgotten herself. And, most of all, the way she had said his _name._ He couldn’t wait to experience all those sensations again.

But then the concern crept in.

Granted, _she_ wasn’t jet-lagged. But she was tired, and a little drunk, and maybe just a bit horny? A whole combination of things that may have affected her judgment. He recalled her confirming that she wanted him… but was she just caught up in the moment? That she just meant she only wanted him now? Maybe he was getting too far ahead of himself.

When she had said they could try again later, after he had finished before her, had she just meant tonight? She hadn’t been specific. Had he just assumed it meant she was wanting to take their relationship up another level?

He tentatively walked from the bathroom into her room, not quite sure what he should do. She had already discarded her skirt and put on clean underwear, but had seemed too tired to bother with anything more than that. The sheet was crumpled at her hips, and Fitz was mesmerized for a moment by the sight of her breasts bulging against her bra each time she took a breath. He was glad he had at least put his boxer shorts back on so he didn’t feel quite as exposed, standing so close to her semi-clad body.

But then his eyes roamed over the rest of her delicate form, and he noticed how pale her skin looked as it reflected the moonlight. Almost ghostly. Like what he had just experienced was merely a dream, and she was but an illusion that tantalizingly shimmered before him.

She must have heard him shuffling against the carpet, because her eyelids fluttered open. After the way her eyes had been drooping when he had walked into the bathroom, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had dozed off for a moment. He absently rubbed the back of his neck as she gazed up at him.

“You’re still here?” Her voice was so gravelly that he couldn’t tell if she was hopeful or surprised.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. All he had originally planned to do tonight was talk to her. Yet now, after sharing an experience that should have dissolved all barriers, he had no idea what to say.

“I know tonight wasn’t exactly something we planned. That it was all a bit rushed.” She rolled onto her back and rubbed at her eyes. He hoped it was just because she was sleepy, but he was worried that she was too ashamed to look him in the eye. “I just hope that this doesn’t make things weird between us.”

He was glad her eyes were closed, because he didn’t want her to see the dismay in his features. “No, no,” he assured her. “It might not have been planned, but I don’t think it was a mistake.”

She looked over at him then and her brow was furrowed. Did she think he was just saying it to make her feel better? Or did she regret what they had done, and was wishing that by tomorrow they could revert back to the safety of their friendship? 

“We should talk about it…” Fitz could see her breaths become deeper, as though garnering the courage to say something else. But all she added was: “…tomorrow.”

He bit his lip and looked at the ground, nodding his agreement.

He heard a crash outside and a tinkling of bottles, followed by a round of giggles.

“I should…” He bent down to get his trousers off the floor. “I should go.”

“Fitz.” He swallowed deeply at the tone of her voice. The way she said his name caused goose-bumps to spring up along his arms and chest. He looked up from where he was still crouched on the floor. He saw her palm slide towards him, then rested against the mattress. “Stay.”

Was it just that the lust was still lingering, and she wanted to savour the feeling for a little longer? Or was she worried what their classmates might think when they saw him stumbling out of her room in a dishevelled mess?

His gaze shifted from where her fingers lay in wait, to her eyes. The uncertainty he felt seemed to be reflected back at him. “Please?” she asked.

Even if it was only for the rest of the night, he realised it didn’t matter; he couldn’t resist anything she asked of him when she was looking at him with such vulnerability.

He slowly rose up and rubbed his thumb against his index finger nervously. But just as he started to shift towards her, the hand she had on offer suddenly moved to lift the sheet. He took the edge from her and she shuffled closer to the wall to give him more room. Her eyes were blinking slowly as he settled in beside her. He could feel the length of her arm resting against his. The air was slightly cooler than earlier in the night, but the heat radiating from her was a pleasant compromise.

They were both slight of frame, but it was still a small space for the two of them to squeeze in to. Even though her other arm was squashed against the wall, one of his shoulders and half his bum cheek was hanging over the side of the bed.

She looked sideways at him, an unsure smile on her face. He wanted to say something, but she seemed to want to avoid a discussion tonight. He gave her a self-deprecating smile in return.

There would be time for talking tomorrow. He was with her now, and he should be content with that.

And then she rolled onto her side.

Rolled away from him.

Fitz felt his stomach drop.

Until he saw her hand shift to rest patiently at her waist, palm up. He hesitated for a moment, then shifted position until his palm pressed against hers.

She gently tugged at his hand, pulling it around her until it forced him to roll on to his side as well. He could feel the tension in her muscles where his chest and abdomen were in contact with her back. She dropped his hand, and he felt the soft skin of her belly under his palm.

She shuffled a bit until her head seemed to find a comfortable groove in the pillow, and her inner forearm rested along the back of his. Her hand slid down until her palm settled against the back of his hand.

He finally felt her relax, and his body seemed to automatically follow suit. Her long hair tickled his face, so he gently lifted it out of the way then also laid his head on the pillow, his nose almost touching the back of her head. He could feel her ribs expand each time she took a breath, her body seeming to mould perfectly against his.

Fitz couldn’t see her face, but he assumed she was being lulled to sleep by the way her breathing seemed to be slowing. It took him a moment to realise his breaths were unconsciously copying hers. He wanted to take comfort in the feel of her perfect body curling against his, and pretend that this was their new normal. It should have been so effortless, to snuggle against her and give in to the exhaustion that was catching up with him. But his brain just wouldn’t switch off.

As much as he had wanted to talk to her earlier in the night, he was now concerned what the conversation tomorrow might entail. That maybe tonight was just a culmination of factors that would dissipate by morning, and they would be left to clean up the awkward aftermath. Maybe Simmons was happy to succumb to slumber so willingly to avoid thinking about that scenario.

He hoped that her reluctance to discuss their unexpected dalliance wasn’t because she was going to tell him that _she_ thought it was a mistake. That she wasn’t just delaying breaking the news to him, now that he’d alluded that he was invested in more than just friendship. The prospect of dismissing what they had shared tonight pained him, knowing what he would be missing out on.

But he would, if that was what she wanted.

He felt her shuffle slightly, and then her fingers weaved in between his, until they were intertwined. 

Fitz pleaded with himself to stop overthinking. As much as they could chat away for hours, they also said so much without words; had always been comfortable purely in each other’s presence.

He felt her belly shift beneath their combined hands as she took a deep breath. And then he felt the minute squeeze of her fingers against his.

Fitz suddenly came to a realisation: who needed words? Maybe he just needed to listen to how much her body and the silence were telling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to try to loop things back so that the story would fit canon. But, as seems to happen with FitzSimmons, it is hard to rein it in once they are triggered, so I guess an alternate timeline branched from here. Which, after the way season five ended, I guess is now allowed in canon ;)


End file.
